Power Rangers: Wild Frontier
by Cyan Horne
Summary: Chosen by the Heart of the West, a new team of Power Rangers must stand against the vengeful Chindi to defend the town of Fort Sonora and restore order to a lawless land.
1. Prologue

So, yeah. Call this an experiment. This story is basically the 'first episode' of an original Power Rangers series set in the same sort of universe as the rest but not directly based on or adapting anything. If people like it, then I'll continue. One way or another, I would love to hear what everyone thinks, so please be sure to leave a review.

Anyway, you're not here to read my ramblings. You want a story. So here we go…

**Power Rangers: Wild Frontier**

**Prologue**

Midnight. The valley town of Fort Sonora, New Mexico, slept on.

Sure, there were lights – streetlamps and traffic signals and a string of all-night diners and bars near the train station – but nestled down between the slopes, they didn't get too far. The surrounding hills lay black as pitch, with only the stars and pale silver of moon to light the way. Even if the most townsfolk hadn't been sleeping, none of them would've seen the black figures creeping towards them through the mesquite.

'Figures' was not quite the right word. They were things, twisted mounds of black flesh pulled tight over stretched bones. They hobbled through the night in a group of six, sometimes on all fours, sometimes up-right. Wide feet left tracks in the dirt like a man trying to walk with skis, and their arms came to a razor-sharp point that shred earth and plants alike to clear their path. Blood-red eyes glowed, guiding their way through the darkness. They had a mission. A target. A goal.

Fort Sonora, their masters whispered, would finally fall.

The crack of branches beneath a human foot brought the group to a stuttering halt. Even with their meager animalistic instincts, they knew that it was too late and too dark for a human to be about. As one, they peered through the darkness, catching sight of an old man in a faded gray Stetson, leaning on his cane, clutching something in his fist that pulsed with soft colored light.

An instant later, the man moved like lightning, cane flying like a blade, striking each of the creatures in turn. They tried to leap at him en masse, but he was too well-prepared, catching each with a sharp blow and slamming them to the ground. One managed to knock the Stetson from his head, and that was all it managed before it too was pinned, the cane digging into its throat.

The old man lift his glowing fist into the air, uncurling a thick metal chain. Hanging from it was a rough, golf ball-sized stone that pulsed with red light, growing brighter and brighter with every flash. Warm light consumed everything, swallowing the shadows like a hungry beast.

And then it was gone, taking the black things with it.

In their place were five rather startled-looking jack rabbits, who scattered into the night. The sixth was still pinned beneath the old man's cane and scrambled away to join its brothers the moment it was released.

The old man took a deep breath of the chill night air and looped the metal chain around his neck once more. The rock rested against his heart, still pulsing softly, though its colors were now diminished to a weak light that even he could barely see. Slowly, he leaned down over his cane, picked up his hat, and set it back on his head.

"They're back all right," he said to the wind. "Guess it's time to start lookin'."

The wind did not, could not respond, but he took no notice. Nestled against his chest, the stone continued to glow, but now its pulses changed color – not just red, but pink, yellow, green, and blue as well. It was waiting. Watching. Searching for those worthy to take up its call.

Below them in the valley, the city of Fort Sonora slept on.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Sorry that this chapter took so long. I thought I'd have it up the day after the prologue, but I wound up rewriting it three times because it just seemed way too slow. Finally got it going now, and we can get to the rangers proper.

**Power Rangers: Wild Frontier**

**Chapter One**

The sun rose over the New Mexican desert that morning the way that it always did in early summer – huge and warm, giving birth to waves of heat the rolled up from the hard earth, conjuring mirages. But on a long stretch of blacktop, there was one place where the heat should have been rising from wince it did not come – the engine of an old pick-up truck, sitting silent on the edge of the road.

"No good," said Len Youkioma, slamming the rusted hood closed. "The old bastard's dead as a doornail."

"Well damn," swore Kaya from driver's seat. "And without even the decency to it in-town."

Len sighed, adjusting the tie on his ponytail to keep his hands busy while he contemplated their situation. The town of Fort Senora sat on the gloomy horizon, opposite the sun, its streetlamps and night-lights winking out as morning crept on. There was at least ten miles left to go…

"Looks like we're hoofing it. Grab your stuff."

Kaya groaned, but kicked open the cab door to do as her brother asked. She was fifteen – four years his junior – and built sturdy and small, like a pre-teen boy. Three turquoise strings dangled against the side of her face, their cheap feathers and beads falling an inch further than her short-cropped hair. Len doubled back to help her drag their bags – all two of them – out of the truck bed, a task that Kaya insisted she could handle alone. She couldn't.

They didn't talk about their plans again until the bags were settled on their shoulders and they began the long trek down the road. Kaya looked up at her brother, worried her bottom lip, and said, "So what are we going to do now?"

Len shrugged. "Start saving I guess. Maybe hope a train."

"Be cheaper to get a hotel."

"Maybe. We'll figure something out. First chance, I'll get a job."

"Doing what?"

"Anything." A mischievous grin slid over Len's face. "I hear Sonora gets a lot of tourists in for their Old West shows. We could always set up a native craft stand."

"Len!" Kaya punched him in the arm, though she was snorting with laughter as well. "You promised, no stupid craft stands!"

"All right, all right!" Len held up both hands in surrender. "I did promise. No matter how bad it gets, they will be no basket, no jewelry, no knick-knacks."

Kaya snorted, hoisting her bag further up on her shoulders. "As if anybody would pay for your lousy beadwork anyway."

A car rushed by, the wind in its wake nearly knocking her backwards with their weight of their things. Len caught her by the shoulder, which was the only thing that kept her on her feet. They sobered immediately. Kaya stared down at the dirt beneath their walking feet.

"Are we going to be okay?"

Len squeezed her shoulder. "I promise, sis. We're going to be okay."

( - ) ( - ) ( - )

It was almost noon when the 1542 Ameri-Track from El Paso finally pulled into Fort Sonora Station. Aaron Goodman swung out of the last car, leapt down the stairs two at a time, and took a deep breath of the fresh New Mexican air. Around here it was thick with steam and engine exhaust, but underneath that lurked the earthy richness of warmed red clay, the crude hint of oil, and the distant watery scent of living creatures lurking in the shadow.

It was the smell of home.

Aaron sighed contently, pushing his dad's old Stetson back to get a better look at the station, crawling with people disembarking from the train, picking up loved ones, and waiting to board for Vegas. He'd been on the rodeo circuit since school let out for the summer a good three weeks ago and, as much as he loved the games – and the awards, checks, and belt-buckles he'd won along the way – there was no place like Fort Sonora, the town where he'd been born and raised.

The sound of someone struggling on the stairs made him turn back. A girl around his age – no less than seventeen at the most – pitched under the weight of a faded pink suitcase and nearly fell out of the train.

"Woah!" Aaron leapt to the rescue, catching the bag with one hand and steading its owner with the other. "Easy there. Need a hand?"

Large, dark eyes peered out from under the tasseled pink head scarf with a sigh of relief. "Yes, thank you."

The tag on her luggage read "Kim Darzi." Aaron pulled her bag down and set it on the platform before offering his hand. Kim took it with a small and grateful smile. His hand seemed huge and pale compared to her delicate fingers and soft tan skin. She stepped delicately onto the platform and peered around with a curious expression that Aaron knew well.

"Visiting are you?"

Kim blinked in surprise. "I…yes, how did you know?"

"You've got 'I have never seen this place before' written all over your face." Aaron chuckled and steered them further into the station so they wouldn't block the train's path. "No worries, though. We get our fair share of tourists. Need someone to show you around?"

Kim pursed her lips. "No, thank you," she said slowly. "I think it'd be better if I just found a hotel."

Aaron raised an eyebrow. So she wasn't here for sightseeing. Interesting. "I can help there too, if you like."

Kim stayed quiet for a moment, deep in thought. She adjusted her head scarf, giving Aaron a gimpse of the smooth black hair hiding beneath, and finally gave a small smile. "Thank you," she said again. "That would be lovely."

**( - )**

"Riona?"

Riona Wilder glanced up, sweeping curly red bangs out of her pale blue eyes. The conductor, a friend of her uncle's, sat at the top of the stairs, smiling down at her. "You'll be moving onto the next line after this, won't you?"

"Yes sir." Riona beamed. Since she was a child, she'd dreamed of traveling every line in the Ameri-Track system, learning the ways of the rails. With her uncle's help, this summer was the season that dream finally came true.

The old conductor chuckled, tipping back his boxy blue hat. "I'll be sad to see you go. You've been a real help this trip."

"Glad to hear it, sir."

"Where're you headed next?"

"Up the west coast." From here she'd be on to Vegas, then San Fran, Seattle, and Vancouver. Then she'd ride the Canadian rails to New York and double back again, crisscrossing the country like a weaver's loom and hitting every last stop, major or no.

The old conductor leaned down and offered her his hand for a good strong shake. "We'll be heading out soon so you'd better step back, but I'd like you to know that it's been a pleasure working with you. Truly."

"The pleasure's all mine."

With a final salute, Riona bid the old man farewell and retreated back into the main foyer of Fort Senora Station with a spring in her step. The station – which had a classic 1950s design fitted out with western paintings and cowboy gear to ply tourist trade – was still bustling with people changing trains, waiting for the next arrival, and picking up their passengers. So Riona expected to be jostled by the crowd, but she was not expecting to be bowled off her feet.

"Hey!"

"Sorry," the man who'd run into her said quickly. He was a black man, in his early 20s like her, with short-cropped hair, a nice suit, and a mostly-empty duffle bag. Playing cards poked out of his pockets and coat sleeves.

Riona recognized him from the train – he'd gotten on at New Orleans and spent the whole trip winning hand after hand of poker with some rough-looking businessmen. The same rough-looking businessmen who were now pushing through the crowd and glaring around with murderous expressions.

Understanding dawned, and Riona leapt up, grabbing the man by the arm. "Come on, this way."

The card-shark started to protest, then caught a glance of his angry pursuers and closed his mouth, hurrying in Riona's wake. She dragged him down the thin side hall to a door whose fog-glass bore the words, "Ameri-Track Employee Lounge," opened it up, and tossed him inside. "Stay down."

Before he could protest, she slammed the door in his face, leaned against it, and turned around. The angry men made it through the crowd and pushed down the hall. Riona cleared her throat and pointed up at the door's sign. "Sorry gentlemen. Employees only after this point."

"Where'd that cheating bastard go?" one of the players demanded.

"Sharp-looking fellow in a green vest?" Riona pointed to her right, at an emergency exit. "He went thatta way. If you hurry, you can catch him."

Shouting their thanks, the angry men tore through the door and out into the alley. Riona waited until they'd all gone through before she pulled the door shut behind them and slipped into the employee longue.

The green-vested card shark lay on the floor where she'd left him, stunned and confused. "They're gone," she assured him. "But you'd better lie low 'til the train to Vegas pulls in. It'll be a couple of hours."

The card-shark gaped at her, sitting up. "How'd you know I was heading for Vegas?"

"Intuition." Riona grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. "Did you really cheat?"

"Of course not!"

Still holding his hand, Riona reached into his sleeve with her free one and pulled out the Ace of Spades he'd tucked there without a word.

"…Maybe a little," the card-shark admitted. "Just to get ahead."

"Right. Don't try that in Vegas. I won't be able to bail you out from Seattle." She chuckled, changed her grip, and turned the supporting hand into a handshake. "Riona Wilder. Nice to meet'cha."

"Felix Chance. Thanks for thesave." The card shark – Felix – returned her greeting with a grin of his own, then broke away. He stretched his arms over his head and wandered to one of the two old futons that furnished the little lounge. "So I'm stuck here for a few hours then. Care for a game?"

He pulled a back of cards from his pocket but, before he could cut them, Riona took it away. "I'm game," she said. "But we do it with my cards and my deal."

Felix sighed and shook his head. "You drive a hard bargain, Riona girl. But you're on."

Smirking, Riona sat across from him and began to cut the deck.

**( - )**

"This seems like a good place."

Kaya regarded the granite décor and bustling crowd with thinly-veiled exhaustion. "This is a train station."

"It's public. And also air-conditioned."

With a shrug, Kaya conceded the point. Her shoulders slumped, and she could barely keep on her feet. Len couldn't blame her. They'd been walking since sunrise, and now it was almost noon. His poor sis needed a break.

"Come here," he said, and led her to an empty bench set against the station wall. "You stay here and study, okay? Four pages of math at least, you've been falling behind. I'll find some work and be back before sundown. If anybody asks, you're waiting for a train, okay?"

Kaya pouted like she wanted to argue, but didn't have the energy. She said, "Okay," and sank onto the bench with a sigh, letting her backpack fall to the ground with a thump.

Len set his bag next to hers, then reached across to squeeze his sister's hand. "I'll be back soon. Study hard."

Kaya returned the squeeze and didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

Len broke away, weaving through the crowd until he made it out the double front doors, then turned right on a whim and headed down the street as though he knew where he was going. He'd never been to Fort Sonora, never even heard of it until last week. He knew that it got its money from mining, petroleum, and the tourist trade, cashing in on the nostalgia people felt for the old west. There were bound to be shops that needed keepers or stockers, or would at least be willing to pay $30 for the privilege of not unloading their truck on a hot summer's day. He was bound to find something, if he looked around.

But before he could, a pained groan caught his ear. Len stopped. The sound came from a small alleyway, too small to drive down, between two abandoned buildings barely a block from the station. It wasn't dark, but it wasn't welcoming either, and it took a second groan – one laced with the undeniable ache of raw pain – to make him investigate.

A man in a tattered suit sat with his back against the wall, curled into a tight ball. He was pale and trembling, moaning in pain.

"Hey," said Len, knelling next to him. "Hey, mister. Are you okay?"

The man turned his head slowly, and Len caught a glimpse of his eyes – rolling and blank, almost as though he were asleep with them open. In the next instant, the man wasn't a man anymore. His bones grew and skin stretched until it split, blood pouring into a spectrum like paint, hardening in the air, twisting and changing his hunched form. In seconds, the man was gone, and only a monster remained. It resembled a giant humming bird, standing a good foot taller than Len, clothed in a ragged rainbow with a long, thin beak that whistle with every breath.

Before Len could even think of running away, the monster attacked.


End file.
